


Stitch This, Mate

by Moransroar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty Fluff, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:49:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5520932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moransroar/pseuds/Moransroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some mormor fluff for Christmas. Secret santa fic for Tumblr's Kumbricprince <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stitch This, Mate

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a more incompetent soul.” 

Sebastian just stepped over the threshold and continued down the hall, never mind the suit jacket that hung shredded around his shoulders, or the man that was tailing him and practically radiating annoyance.

“You’re ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. And look at yourself! I’m never buying you a suit again.”

Ignoring most of the comments that were flung to his head, Sebastian stepped into the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit out of the cabinet under the sink like it was something he did every day. Which wasn’t all wrong, although the frequency wasn’t accurate.

“You’re not sleeping in my bed like that. And- No, no you’re not leaving that shirt in the bath like that. Clean up after yourself. I’m not wiping _your_ filthy blood off _my_ tiles.”

Despite Jim’s protest, the bloodied shirt found its way into the tub, as did the shredded jacket and the crumpled tie. There was nothing Sebastian hated more than having to wear a suit on the job, anyway. It felt restricted, too tight to be able to make a quick getaway when things went South, even if Jim insisted it was perfectly tailored for a lot of movement.

Sebastian didn’t believe that suits could be tailored for the purpose of fleeing or chasing a threat.

Hell, they could hardly hide a weapon properly. Which was the main reason he now sat bleeding out on the rim of the bath.

“That’s nothing you can’t fix. Stop squinting and start sewing.”

And with that, Jim stormed out, finally leaving Sebastian to his own thoughts. Really, he didn’t mind much, because after what had happened his mind was occupied by other things than a criminal throwing a tantrum.

Managing to get a threat through the eye of a needle that was too small for his trembling, bloody fingers, he reached down to his side and started stitching up the gash that ran across his ribs. He was just lucky nothing crucial had been hit. Not that that would have mattered, truly, because Sebastian was confident that if such a thing happened Jim would be so kind as to get some medics around.

About an hour later and Sebastian was all patched up, stitches as neatly as he could get them, cleaned, and bandaged. He swayed a little when the small amount of morphine he’d taken in kicked in, eyelids fluttering for a moment as he found his balance again. Recomposed and well, the blond went to find the still seething criminal.

Judging by the voice that travelled down the corridor, Jim still wasn’t done ranting.

Sometimes Sebastian really couldn’t begin to fathom what was going on in that head of his.

“…And that’s not even half of it though, is it? I told you countless of times: _if you ruin this suit, I’ll have your head for it._ And the worst thing is that I can’t even go through with it because – God forbid – I need you. Isn’t that pathetic? Just because you prove to be handy every now and again. Every now and again. Sometimes I think that the only useful thing about you is your cock. I should remove it and dispose of the rest of you.”

The voice drifted closer and Jim appeared, dressed in a too big shirt – quite obviously Sebastian’s – and a pair of sweatpants. He didn’t even so much as glance as Sebastian but snapped at him before flopping down on the sofa in the living room.

“Take off those trousers.”

It left Sebastian in just pants. Not that he minded. But the bending down to get the suit trousers off stung at his stitches. The stretch wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“And put them in the wash, you git.”

Sebastian sighed inaudibly.

“You’re so _thick_ ,” Jim continued, a dramatic wave of his hands visible from over the back rest of the sofa. “Thick! Thick, thick, thick. _Thick_.”

The sound was momentarily distanced when Sebastian stuck his head around the corner into the bathroom to cast his trousers into the hamper in the corner, and it disappeared completely when Sebastian slipped into his bedroom to fetch a similar attire to what his boss was currently dressed in, and reappeared moments later. But when the sniper returned, Jim was still chanting his words of abuse.

Sure, things back at the fancy gala hadn’t exactly gone how both Jim and Sebastian would have wanted it to, but was it really Sebastian’s fault that the outlines of his SEG had been visible upon bowing down to kiss the hand of a fancily dressed woman that Jim had introduced to him. Moreover, it could have gone smoothly, had that nasty husband of hers not been glancing over her shoulder all the time. Possessive pig. Anybody attending to the gala could have seen the reluctance that had radiated off the woman had they really looked at her. Probably just in it for the money. Or, as Jim had assured him, after her own bit of ascendancy in the criminal world.

Pity she’d been in her husband’s direct line of fire the moment it had started raining bullets.

Even Jim had thought she was capable of so much more.

Sebastian touched his bandaged absently, feeling over the slight bumps of the stitches as he moved over to the sofa. Tantrum of not, the blond sank down on the sofa next to the other and leaned back with a sigh.

Jim looked up from where he lay curled up next to the sniper, eyes narrowed as they travelled up and down his bare chest.

“I hate you,” he said, though his voice had lost most of its ferocity, and just sounded more whiny than ever.

“I know,” Sebastian replied as he looked over at the man. It was the first thing he’d said since they had come home. He found that it was far easier now the adrenaline was starting to wear off.

“You’re such an idiot.”

Jim was moving, all limbs and clumsiness to try and stay on the sofa instead of tumbling off, and ended up with his head in Sebastian’s lap.

“Sure, Jim.”

“I mean it.”

“Twat.”

“Arse.”

Sebastian’s hand found its way into Jim’s hair. Surprisingly gently. It almost – _almost –_ caught the criminal off guard. But only slightly.

“I’m not cooking for you for a week.”

An affronted gasp on Jim’s part.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Sebastian rose a challenging eyebrow at the man – nay, child – in his lap.  
  


Jim continued, “I hate you.”  
  


The blond sighed and bend down, his ribs and the stitches protesting against the uncomfortable angle, and he kissed Jim deeply. And to Sebastian’s mild surprise, Jim didn’t pull back or pushed him off or shoved him away. The blond grinned against his lips.

He then sat up, satisfied with successfully silencing his company, and picked up the television remote from the couch of the sofa to turn on the television.

 

“I love you too, Jim.” 


End file.
